I am enjoying this series on “What is a Spiritual Practice.” Various writers describe how everyday activities connect us to God/the Holy/the Really Real/the Great Whatever, and Christine Sine has been linking to them on her blog. Recent topics have included everything from composting to blogging to lovemaking.
Living in Suburban Sheol as I do, I want to propose driving as a spiritual practice.
…OK, hear me out on this!
First, we have some stereotypes to overcome, and some caveats:
Here’s the image of suburban driving: a mom in a gas-guzzling SUV, Starbucks in hand, cell phone ringing, kids making a racket in the backseat with the in-car DVD player blaring. It’s hard to see much that’s mindful about that, true… but it’s a caricature.
Now, I have heard of parents who sit in their car, idling with the air conditioning on, watching Junior play a soccer game. I also think we drive places when we’d be better off walking or biking, though few suburbs are built for that. I am concerned about sprawl, and this area has some truly horrendous commutes. And finally, driving purely for pleasure has never been much of an interest of mine. I’m a big believer in every-little-bit-helps environmentalism, so I’m not sure I want to encourage driving just for the heck of it.
All of that said… driving can provide nourishment for us spiritually. I know it is seen by most people as a necessary evil, something to be suffered through… but we might say the same about washing dishes, which has been addressed in the blog series. So here’s my case.
Driving gets us where we need to go.
We start with the obvious: driving transports us to our places of vocation and avocation, our loved ones, our homes, our places of commitment, our houses of worship, and nature. I know of a family, recent refugees from Iraq. The father does not have a job in part because he does not have a car that could get him to a job reliably. I am profoundly grateful to have reliable transportation. The few times we’ve had our cars in the shop have served as reminders of those who go without this basic component of suburban (and urban, and rural) life.
Driving provides liminal space between one place and the next.
The first job I had after college was 1/2 block away from my house. I absolutely loved the convenience of being able to run home and have lunch or let in a repair person, and it was wonderful that my husband and I could get by with one car. But going so quickly from work to home can be a bit jarring.
My 15-20 minute commute provides that transition now. The drive gives me a chance to shift from one life role to the next. I “set my face toward Jerusalem” every morning as I drive to the church, mentally preparing myself for whatever I will find there. And I drive home, letting the responsibilities of the church go as I approach home.
Connected with this idea of liminal space is the awareness that for someone like me, who parents three children and pastors a church and is also seeking to be a good spouse and a faithful friend, the commute is one of the few times that I am truly alone with my thoughts. This is precious time.
And so it’s no coincidence that I have written poems about experiences in the car… here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here.
Driving fosters connections.
Friends with older children have told me that their best conversations with their kids often come at bedtime and in the car. There is something about both the darkness of lights-out, and the lack of eye contact in the car, that allows kids to open up a little more. I treasure the times I’m with my kids in the car, shuttling from one mundane yet necessary errand to the next…
Well, I treasure most of those times, anyway. And the times they’re impatient or tired, I must tap into deep wells of creativity to keep them entertained!
Along the same lines, a friend of mine cherishes the soccer carpool: “It’s like they forget I’m there, and I receive such insight into my daughter’s life and that of her friends, listening to what they talk about. Other times they actually ask me what I think about some issue they’re dealing with.”
It’s often said that what builds relationships is not the whiz-bang extraordinary trip to DisneyWorld, but the thousand everyday interactions that make up our everyday lives. And what could be more everyday (at least in the suburbs) than driving?
Driving invites mindfulness and discernment.
Here I’m talking specifically about discerning what kind of audio accompaniment one needs at any given moment. For a long time I kept the radio tuned to NPR, no matter the time of day or the program. Over time I realized that my desire to keep abreast of the latest news was negatively impacting my mood and spiritual health. Now that I have the ability to listen to podcasts in the car, I have been much more intentional about taking my spiritual temperature and asking, What do I need right this minute? Acoustic music? Something short and funny? A thoughtful interview? A well-constructed sermon? Or (gasp) nothing at all?
This question, What do I need right now?, has made a difference, and I daresay I’m asking it more often in other areas of life, rather than just falling into a mindless “next thing on the to-do list.”
Driving is a mini-lesson in the commandment to love neighbor.
We talk a lot in the church these days about how Christ’s command to love transcends our own theological viewpoints. I am called to love those with whom I disagree. To this end, it is a good spiritual practice for me to yield to the car plastered with bumper stickers I find objectionable, or to the Hummer inching its way into my lane even if I think it is a preposterous vehicle. The other day, when a driver in a pickup truck blared his horn and zoomed around me apparently for not going fast enough for his taste, I remembered Paul’s injunction not to repay evil for evil. I won’t claim to follow Paul’s advice all of the time, but I set the intent to do so.
Driving requires patience and reminds us that we’re not in control.
I meet twice a month with my writing group at a coffee shop in a suburb north of here. It hardly matters what time I leave; it always takes the same amount of time to get there, and I’m always between 10 and 15 minutes late. I’ve learned to accept this. I breathe deeply, choose my listening material carefully, and embark on the journey, determined to accept (or maybe even welcome) what comes.
Simply stated, traffic happens. When I’m at my best, I’m able to view it as a sabbath moment. Yes, I’m still “working,” hands on the wheel, looking out for other vehicles, navigating around construction or a traffic accident. But traffic is a sabbath in the sense that it’s a reminder that I’m not indispensable, that the world is going on without me, while I sit on the Capitol Beltway.
So… what do you think? Share your thoughts in the comments.
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I’ve had some of the best conversations with my tween- and teen-aged kids in the car. The reason? Two words: captive audience. Once the youngest got her license, a lot of that opportunity was lost.
I still remember the summer she had her first real boyfriend and I drove her to play practice or cheer leading camp every morning. Good times.
I drive 30 miles to my child’s school and then turn around and drive back. For two years, I also drove 30 miles in the opposite direction 2 days a week to take the other child to an arts high school.
I know about spending time in the car. And for me, it is sacred time.
I hardly ever answer work calls during the commute. I often have nothing playing on the radio and I don’t own an ipod….so……
I pray. I try to find the words to say to God about my children and at the end of 30 minutes of driving I end up just holding them up to Grace.
I pray. I try to believe that the person who just has to speed past me is on the way to an emergency and I pray for them and their family.
I pray. I cry with God about the overwhelming sadness that happened in my community with Katrina. I cry about the kids who are struggling in my practice, the mothers who are frazzled, and the families who are so worried about finances.
I pray. Every morning I try to give my marriage back to the Grace. This one doesn’t always last, but I try.
In the summer, when I have less driving I find myself lonely. I know that it is because without the driving every day I am praying less.
This is way too long a response for your post, but I really thought I was the only person in the world to think of driving as a spiritual discipline.
you know, RM, I might need you and possibly your blog….Amy and I are working on a book and one of my chapters is called “the holy in the mundane” and is about spirituality in apparently boring/routine/everyday/(umm, mundane pretty much said it) tasks. One of the sections is tentatively sub-headed “Commuting with God.” I only commute 10 minutes, but those 10 minutes are really important to my day. A lot of the people in my area commute an hour or more, either by train or car, but I’m not sure how many of them use it or see it as a spiritual practice/opportunity…hence the chapter.
So yeah, we should talk. and i’ll be reading the comments here carefully!
Excellent analysis!
I love your thoughts about driving as a liminal space, fostering connections and reminding us we are not in control…and well, all of your other points, too. As a more than 20 year veteran of constant drives to and from our suburban home, I finally learned to enjoy the process instead of being frustrated by it. I do much of my praying in the car.
I miss the long drives to Tennessee I took with my youngest daughter to help her drive her car to and from college for four years. We learned that we made a great traveling team and it was a wonderful opportunity to be together.
Loved it so much I had to link to it and add some more thoughts…
Here’s the link
Awesome! Thanks Grace!
Absolutely. I used to commute 1.5 hour each way to work, and some days it would take that long to leave work stuff or (more rarely) home stuff in the car. I pictured my car as spiritually cluttered as it was physically cluttered! When we moved closer, it was a very difficult transition for me, and I had to work really hard to make sure I wasn’t taking work stuff into the house. I simply hadn’t had enough time to process it.
And in my former life as a youth minister, I would insist (big meanie that I was) that part of the drive we would turn OFF the video games, movies, i-pods, whatever, and just BE together. Good times.
In general, I’m much more comfortable and identify much more with the spirituality of the everyday than the idea of sitting down in a quiet corner and saying, “now I’m going to be spiritual.” I dream of an integrated life.
The phenomenon of the front seat of the car has fascinated me for years. I used to drive a youth group member home after group each week. He wouldn’t speak all night but the minute we were in the car he just started talking. I loved it! I learned more about him in the 10 minute drive home than I did in the 10 years I’d known him before that. There have been many others in that same seat and the same thing happens. Though I have to agree, when youth are in the car together, they tend to forget the driver and talk pretty freely with each other.
Personally I’ve found that the car is the best place for pouring my heart out before God as well. I’ve cried, yelled, whispered, rambled and more to God driving down the road. Talking out loud to God can be pretty theraputic and the safest place for me is in the car where the chances of someone overhearing are slim to none.
The teenage years, side by side. The whispered confession, the tear. The ‘you wont tell anyone-except for dad’ or the don’t tell dad, I can’t bear for him to know” I honored the request-it was not something dad needed to know at that time-not dangerous, but she was embarrassed enough.
At one point, we needed a second car-I could not make it home in time for SO to get to work. We bought a GEO-Metro with no radio. For 3 years I drove 45 minutes one way to work. I loved it. Prayers, thoughts hopes and fears came out. I was more observant of traffic tie ups since I could not hear about them. I worked west of St. Louis MO, I lived in IL.(right across the river). I remember clearly a major accident occuring where there was a left lane exit. I saw the back up and was able to make corrections before the news hit the radio. A boss told me that she was worried that I would be stuck in the traffic. We eventually bought a radio for that car, but many times I shut it off.
I found this post by way of Presbyterian Bloggers. I know I am off topic, but I think I should add here what I posted there:
I think we are in for a change. We might enjoy driving (and I do) and the spirituality of it.
This blip in human history is coming to a crash. The reality is that fossil fuels are limited and likely already have peaked.
As a church, we should be talking about the spirituality of walking, or in the interim, the spirituality of public transportation and carpooling.
It doesn’t matter if we are Republican or Democrat, if we like SUVs or hybrids, we are in for change.
Last year, when gasoline was around $4 a gallon, we were asking how to do “church” within this reality. Then gas prices dropped and we went on our merry motoring. Gas prices are rising again.
But the big question (to which I don’t have an answer) is what it means to be “spiritual” to live the Gospel in the face of our double crises brought by fossil fuels–energy and the environment.
I know this wasn’t the focus of your post. Sorry to be a bummer. Feel free to ignore!
Thanks John. I can’t disagree with what you’ve said.
I think this is a both/and. I think it’s possible to have the conversation you’re describing while also acknowledging the spiritual reflection that can come while driving. Substitute “walking” or “public transportation” for “driving” and the points still stand.
Yes, I realize it is two conversations and I support driving in a more spiritual, less anxious way, by all means! And a great post. Sorry to get you off topic.
Just found your wonderful post by way of Christine Sine’s collection on spiritual practices: http://godspace.wordpress.com/2009/09/23/what-is-a-spiritual-practice-the-complete-series/.
I stumbled into driving as spiritual practice first by way of confession.
I noticed that when I merge onto the freeway, I often get irritated if people don’t make at least some effort to let me in. Then when I’m in the right lane, I get irritated by people trying to merge if they don’t take the initiative and end up making me speed up or slow down! I am totally self-centered, and change my sense of the “rules of the road” so that it’s always the other person’s job to make the merge work!
What a sinner.
I thank God I can laugh at my self-centered self.
But since then, as I’ve made it my job to intentionally facilitate other people’s merges, I’ve started to hear a phrase from John 14:2 “I go to prepare a place for you.” The phrase is curiously out of context, but even so it has become a part of my spiritual practice of driver’s hospitality.
And, lucky me, I get to engage in this practice over, and over, and over, and over again… every day!!
And blessedly, I am generally less irritatednow.
GREAT example Tim. Thanks for offering that. I am often the same way… I suspect many of us are.